He was uncertain how to respond. Was this mention of Spicer’s name in connection with the murders a genuine attempt to help bring a criminal to justice, or was it a ploy to divert attention, in the same way that Simms had shifted focus to Bill Johnston that day at Millcreek?
He decided to laugh off the statement. “What are you suggesting, Isaac? Do you think I’m the killer? Or that Spicer and I have conspired in some way?”
“Of course not,” Simms replied. “I just think Spicer bears watching.”
As do you, Lewis thought.
The conversation was unsettling, though Simms’s words only echoed what he himself had considered, and he worried away at it for several days afterward. And then, when the words he remembered were becoming jumbled and fragmentary in his mind to the point where he had almost decided to try to forget them, he realized what his problem was. It was his approach that was faulty. He had been trying to find the connections that would point to one person, but what if he turned the riddle around, and simply tried to eliminate rather than prove? “Murder seems to happen wherever the both of you are,” Simms had said. What if one of them hadn’t been there after all?
Simms’s movements would be the most difficult to trace, especially if he was trying to be discreet about his inquiries. It would be far easier to track Spicer. He knew for a fact that Spicer had been in both Demorestville and Prescott when the murders had occurred nearby. He could have been in Millcreek — he had dropped in at Bath often enough to enquire after Lewis’s health — but it was uncertain where he had been specifically when the Clark girl was killed. And where was he when Sarah died? He would need to return to Demorestville to find out.
II
Brighton Circuit had been a good choice for Lewis, both in terms of the number of new converts and the number of weddings, baptisms, and — less appealing — funerals he was called to. Fortunately, the settlements on this round had a high proportion of younger people, so marriages and baptisms formed the bulk of the work that brought him extra money. It sounded callous, even to his own ears. After all, his mission was to preach the Word, not to make a profit. Nevertheless, his £100 debt preyed heavily on his mind and the remuneration he received for presiding at special occasions was allowing him to slowly peck away at his monetary millstone. Even when, as was all too often, there was no cash to give him, he received eggs or cheese or joints of beef for his services. These he would carry to the nearest store where, in exchange, he could chivvy a coin or two from the storekeeper. Good sense dictated that he shouldn’t allow any of these opportunities to slip away. His return to Demorestville would have to wait.
The heavy rains continued into June, causing the creeks and small rivers to swell and flood and rendering the back roads even more boggy and unpleasant than usual. Lewis was finding it difficult to reach the more remote areas of his circuit, and once there, found few to preach to. The families who normally would have congregated in the nearest village for a meeting found it almost impossible to fight their way through the water and mud to get there. He would have been willing to travel from house to house to worship with them — he had done it before — but even he found many trails impassable.
It seemed to him an excellent opportunity to leave his meetings in the hands of the local preachers. He could use the time not only to carry out his investigations, but to check on his family in Bath as well. As long as he stayed on the better-maintained main thoroughfares, it should only take him a day or two.
Although it had only been a few weeks since he had seen her, it appeared to him that Martha had grown several inches and had lost that babyish look. Both she and her grandmother seemed happy and well, and although Betsy was walking with a slight limp — the result of an aggravation of her fever during the damp spring — her colour was good and there was no sign of the pinched look that marred her face when she was in great pain.
When he announced that he was on his way to Demorestville next, Betsy insisted that she and Martha join him. It would be a change of pace, a holiday, and a chance to meet with old friends.
“That’s one of the hardest things about this life,” she said. “You make friends, then you move, and it’s years before you get to see them again. I’m quite interested in seeing Minta Jessup’s baby, and I’ll never get a better chance than this.”
Lewis would have preferred to go alone. Taking his family meant he would have to take them back to Bath when the visit was over whereas if he were on his own, he could transact his business and continue westward, back to his circuit. Besides, he had intended to mull over his suspicions and formulate his approach on the way. On the other hand, Betsy’s insights could well be an asset, if she could manage to articulate them over Martha’s chatter. He would, however, have to borrow a horse. Three of them together on one horse was fine for a short ride, but Martha was too big and his horse too old to carry them many miles. He wondered if Betsy was well enough to ride that far, but he knew of no one from whom he could borrow a carriage or even a cart for more than a few hours.
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “The only thing I’ll ask of you is that we stop once in a while. I know you. You’ll ride for hours just to say you made good time.”
He prevailed upon Luke to ask for a horse from the livery.
“He’s not much to look at, but I think he’ll get you there,” Luke said when he trotted out a swayback bay. “Mr. Trager says he’s sorry, but this is all he’s got at the moment. No charge for him, though.”
The horse looked steady enough, placid even, and if they didn’t push too fast it should carry them through.
As a result, good time was the one thing they didn’t make. Lewis’s horse was every bit as old as the bay, but it was used to long hours on the trail. The poor horse they had borrowed had difficulty maintaining even what Lewis thought was a sedate pace, and in spite of its lethargic appearance it was spooked by the presence of Martha, who squirmed in the saddle constantly and pulled at the reins on occasion. The bay disliked picking its way around the huge puddles in the road and sometimes rode straight through, splashing water and mud on Betsy and the little girl. To add to their discomfort, a cold drizzle sneaked down the back of their collars and soaked their cloaks.
They had to wait for the horse ferry at Green Point. It was on the Prince Edward side picking up a farmer with a wagon and took what seemed to Lewis an interminable time to come back across. Betsy, however, appreciated the chance to dismount and stretch her legs, and she and Martha spent the time looking for wildflowers and frogs along the shore and throwing stones into the water. They were both delighted by the ferry, measuring its progress as it churned toward them, and he chuckled at Martha’s delight when she realized that she was going to be given a ride on it. The bay was not nearly so happy, and Lewis had to tug and pull at its reins to get it to board at all.
The horse remained skittish as they rode on. They had just reached the stretch of road that wound along past the marsh to the north of Demorestville when one of the mangy brown dogs that were a feature of most farmyards came racing out to the road to warn them away from the property. As the animal nipped at the bay’s legs, Martha squealed and the horse reared, throwing both Martha and Betsy to the ground. One of the horse’s hooves connected squarely with the dog’s head, and it, too, was thrown into the air, to land in a huddle beside the humans.
Lewis leapt off his horse and ran first to the little girl, but she had fallen into a quite thick clump of grass, and in the way of youngsters, seemed unhurt, although she was caterwauling at the top of her lungs. Betsy had fallen near the same clump, but had landed heavily, and now she moaned as her already sore hip protested against this further insult. The dog, when Lewis checked, was quite dead.
Martha’s cries brought the farmer running. He cursed at the loss of his dog, but softened when he saw the child, and he became quite apologetic when he realized that the woman was injured, and that she was, moreover, a preacher’s wife.
“Dang dog never did have no sen
se,” he said. “Good for watching the place, but not much else.”
He offered Betsy a bed to rest on, but Lewis didn’t like the looks of the farmer, or the state of his dilapidated house. When he mentioned that their destination was Demorestville, and that they had friends with whom they could stay, the man looked relieved and offered to hitch up his wagon and take them to the village.
Lewis retrieved the wayward horse and tied both mounts to the back of the wagon, then attempted to make Betsy as comfortable as he could for the short drive. Every time the wagon hit a bump in the road, which was often, she involuntarily let out a little groan. To make matters worse, the drizzle turned into a downpour and, even though Lewis tried to shelter her with his cloak, she was soaked.
He hesitated for only a moment when the farmer asked him which house he should go to. He knew that the Varneys would gladly take them in, but that Mrs. Varney’s incessant gossiping would grate on the nerves in a very short period of time. He directed the farmer to take the wagon to the double house behind the smithy.
Minta looked surprised when she answered the knock at the door, but after hearing of their troubles, she quickly offered to take them in. Lewis had to admire her quiet authority as she helped him get Betsy down out of the wagon.
“Can you do something for me?” she asked Martha, who was trying to help but was mostly just getting in the way. “Could you go into the house and look after my little boy? You have to be very, very careful that he doesn’t get too near the stove. I’m trusting you, all right?” With that, Martha ran into the house, bursting with the importance of her task.
Lewis offered the farmer some money in return for his pains, but was relieved when the man declined.
“Oh, no. It was my beast that knocked you over,” he said. “And what with you being a preacher an’ all, I expect you could find some other use for it.”
Lewis thanked him and went inside to discover that Minta had made Betsy comfortable on the day bed and was busy making tea. Martha was playing a clapping game with a little boy who looked very much like his mother.
He glanced around the kitchen with approval — it was tidy and well-organized, and had been brightened with some woven curtains on the windows and a strip of drugget on the floor. There was no ghost of Rachel here —the Jessups had left the taint of death behind when they assumed the business and a new house with it.
“I hope you don’t mind us imposing on you, Minta,” he said. “We could have gone to Varney, but I thought Betsy would find it easier here until she gets a chance to catch her breath.”
Minta turned and smiled at him. “I don’t mind a bit. In fact, I’m delighted to see you, and you’re welcome to stay for as long as you need to. It’s the least I can do — you were such a comfort to us when Rachel died.”
“I appreciate that. You’re sure Seth won’t mind?”
She looked surprised. “Not at all. Why should he?”
“I had the impression that he didn’t think too much of you attending our meetings. And I hope I’m not speaking out of turn, but Rachel once implied that he was pretty canny with his money.”
She threw back her head and laughed — a lovely tinkling laugh that filled the room. “Oh, but he was, he was! And trust Rachel to have said so. Seth’s turned over a new leaf, though, and now he goes to meeting himself.”
“I hear that he’s doing quite well.”
“Yes. Seth’s frugality has paid off. We had enough saved to convince Mr. Chrysler that we were serious about buying the smithy and Seth works so hard that there’s no problem with making the payments. We would be happier if we could rent the other side of the house — that would help — but it has no yard and it’s so close to the house next door that it’s always dark, so nobody wants it.”
“Well, congratulations. And by the way, congratula–tions on such a fine boy as well.”
“He’s a gem. He’s so good, and never gives me any trouble.”
“Thank the Lord for that, Minta. You’ve truly been blessed.”
“Aye, that I have.” Her face darkened for a moment. “I only wish Rachel could be here to share it. I miss her that much, I’ll tell you.”
With great reluctance, Lewis left the cheerful Jessup kitchen and made his way down the Broadway to the general store, where he met with a pleasant, if voluble, reception.
“Mr. Lewis!” the storekeeper exclaimed. “I didn’t expect to see you. Have they posted you back here?”
“No, I’m afraid they haven’t,” Lewis replied. “Sad to say, but I’m not far — just over on the Brighton Circuit — though I seldom get down this way. How are you? And your good wife?”
Varney insisted that Lewis follow him through to the back of the store and take tea in the sitting room. That was fine as far as Lewis was concerned, for it suited his purposes.
“Elsie! Elsie! You’ll never guess who just wandered into our store!”
Mrs. Varney bustled out of the kitchen. “Oh, my goodness, my goodness. Sit down, Mr. Lewis, sit down. You’ll take some refreshment?”
When Mrs. Varney had piled the table high with tea and johnnycake just out of the oven, she settled down in a chair and beamed at him.
“What brings you here, Mr. Lewis?”
He had had little chance to decide how he was going to broach the subject, but given that Mrs. Varney was apt to cheerfully fill him in on more than he wanted to know anyway, he took a breath and jumped in.
“I’m here to make inquiries regarding Morgan
Spicer,” he said. “He has applied to be licensed as an itinerant minister, and of course, part of that process includes an investigation into his character and activities. I thought that perhaps you could enlighten me a little as to his background.”
It wasn’t really the truth, not taken in its entirety, although each part of what he said was fact, and Lewis realized that he was getting far too adept at these little prevarications. One could argue that finding the truth of a great sin was worth the commission of a small one, except that he was only too well aware that it was but the first step on a path that led only downward. He would have to watch himself from now on, but for the moment it served his purpose.
“Oh, Morgan Spicer,” Mrs. Varney said, and settled back in her chair to give full vent to her knowledge. “Well, I can’t really think of any particular black mark against the boy in terms of his character. It’s not like he’s a criminal or a drunkard or, heaven help us, a womanizer. It’s just that, really, nobody has ever liked him much. It’s not a case of character, it’s more a case of … personality, I suppose.”
Lewis nodded. “He does seem to be a difficult person to warm up to, but I don’t believe that should be held against him.”
“I do know that he seemed very smitten with the Jessup girl who died, but then all the young men were. Why, they were just like flies around a saucer of honey, and honestly, you do have to wonder about what sort of girl she was, to attract so much attention, don’t you?”
“She was a very pretty girl,” Mr. Varney said mildly.
“Oh, you. You always did have an eye for a pretty girl. Why, some of them come into the store and you practically fall over yourself to wait on them.”
“Ah, yes, that may be true, but truth to tell, I married the best of the lot.”
Mrs. Varney simpered a little at that, and Lewis decided it was time to steer the conversation into more informative areas. “Tell me,” he said, “did Spicer grow up here?”
“Oh, yes, although he had a most unfortunate start in life. His mother died when he was born, his father disappeared to who knows where, and he was raised by an uncle who already had more children than he knew what to do with. Young Spicer didn’t have much of a life there.”
“And did he go to school here, as well?”
Mrs. Varney furrowed her brow as she tried to recall the details of what she knew about Morgan Spicer. “Yes … Well, yes and no. He may have gone to the school for a couple of years, but I don’t think he was any
more than eight or nine when he was put to work sweeping out the livery stable. I seem to remember him being there when he was a very small boy. Of course, old Conrad Spicer put all of his own children to work as well, so I don’t suppose you can say he was particularly unfair to Morgan.”
That would explain Spicer’s inability to read very well.
“Did Spicer continue working at the livery stable?
“Oh, no. He had a number of jobs.”
“He worked at the distillery for a while,” Mr. Varney prompted.
“Yes, that’s right, at the distillery, and at the mill … and where else?”
“Why so many places?” Lewis wanted to know.
“Oh, he just couldn’t get along with anybody. Nobody liked him. And he always tried to seem important, no matter what he did. Puffed it up and put on airs, tried to make out that he had been given some sort of important job, when usually all he was allowed to do were the most menial tasks. I know the men at the tannery made dreadful fun of him. The Caddick boys called him Major Morgan. He was always the first man to be let go whenever there was any slack in business.”
“I think he was a good enough worker, though,” Mr. Varney ventured.
“I didn’t say he wasn’t, dear. I just said that nobody liked him.”
“So …” Lewis said. He tried to keep his voice even, to not give away the fact that his next questions were crucial ones. “Where was he working when I was here?”
“Oh, eventually he settled into working for old Mr. Kemp, the tombstone maker,” Mrs. Varney said. “It was a good job for him — chiselling away at the granite all day. He didn’t have to work with anyone else, you see, other than Mr. Kemp, who is so deaf that he wouldn’t be able to hear anything much of Morgan’s nonsense. He was there for three, four years I believe, until just after you left. He just disappeared one day, and to tell the truth, I never gave him a second thought until you brought his name up just now. And now you’re telling us that he’s decided to be a preacher.” She would tuck this information away until the first moment that she could flourish it for anyone who would listen. “You know, he might be just fine at that. He certainly likes the sound of his own voice. He might better use it for something good.”
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